


L'Appartement

by theartistprince



Series: La Nouvelle Fille [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, new girl a/u, this is the first one so nothing important happens but the main four are introduced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theartistprince/pseuds/theartistprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosette desperately needs a place to stay but perhaps she shouldn't have consulted Craigslist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	L'Appartement

“- And since my boyfriend, of five years, the man I thought I was going to marry, cheated on me, I have no choice but to move in with you,” Cosette sniffed, wiping her nose for what felt like the millionth time. “I seriously thought you were women, though.”

A silence settled over the three men sitting across from her, all of who shifted awkwardly at her statement.

“Well, we’re not,” the curly haired man stated, leaning stretching his arms behind the couch and spreading his legs further apart in a vain attempt to assert his questioned manliness. “I’m Courfeyrac and I’m a major name in the advertising game.”

The scruffy man sitting to Courfeyrac’s left snorted. “Major name?” He asked, rolling his head to look over at his friend. “The office’s whipping boy, you mean.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes narrowed at his friend. “This overly-built character is our roommate Bahroel,” Courfeyrac introduced. “The bartender. The job doesn’t have insurance benefits or any upward mobility but it keeps us in free drinks. Which is far more important.”

Bahroel saluted at Cosette before taking a swig of his beer. “I don’t do girly drinks anymore, though, so don’t bother asking,” Bahroel warned.

Affronted, Cosette crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s a girly drink? What makes a drink either girly or not girly?” Cosette challenged, looking vaguely threatening despite the mascara dripping from her eyes and the crumpled kleenex gathered in the skirt of her dress. 

The blond man on the other side of Courfeyrac gave her an approving look. “Thank you,” he sighed. “There’s no need to genderize alcohol.” 

Bahorel chose to ignore his roommate. “A girly drink, you know. Something that’s super fruity, like passion fruit or mango other fruits people don’t actually eat and just smell or drink.”

“People eat mangos,” Cosette informed the bartender. “And why do you think I’d want a fruity drink? I’m twenty-seven, not eighteen,” Cosette bit back.

“Man, there’s nothing wrong with fruity drinks,” Courfeyrac disagreed, shaking his head. “That shit goes down so nicely. It’s like drinking a cloud.”

Bahorel motioned to Courfeyrac. “See, this is why I don’t make them anymore. They get Courfeyrac all weird and it’s just a massive mistake.”

“I don’t get weird,” Courfeyrac muttered, earning a scoff from both Bahorel and the blond. 

“Don’t you remember that time when you drank too many daiquiris and thought that you would make an awesome shot girl?” Bahorel said, leaning back on the couch.

-

_“Alright, boys and girls!” Courfeyrac exclaimed in his most seductive voice as he crawled on top of the table, a bottle of Jack Daniels clutched in his hand. “Body shots cost double!”_

_A series of groans echoed around him, some people shouting loudly at him to stop what he was doing._

_It wasn’t until a child started crying that Courfeyrac paid them any attention._

_“You’re ruining my bar mitzvah!”_

-

“All I can say is that day, François truly became a man,” Courfeyrac said with a small shrug. “I have no regrets.”

“You never have any regrets,” the blond muttered, drawing Courfeyrac’s attention to him.

“And this sometimes unpleasant fellow is known as Enjolras,” Courfeyrac informed Cosette. “We’re members in his political activist group and he’s a temp at a law firm.”

“I am not a temp!” Enjolras exclaimed, turning to Courfeyrac with an incredulous expression. 

“An intern, whatever,” Courfeyrac amended. “Sorry.”

Enjolras sighed deeply, using the his fingers to massage his temples lightly. “I spent the last two years building hospitals in remote villages with Amnesty International,” Enjolras exclaimed, earning shouts of “name dropper!” and “do-gooder!” from his friends. “Now I work as a _law assistant_ ,” Enjolras emphasised, turning his eyes to his friends. “At a very prestigious law firm here in Paris. Now, it’s true that I don’t get paid but-”

“It doesn’t really matter because his parents give him money,” Courfeyrac interjected.

“I don’t get money from my parents,” Enjolras argued.

“You use your trust fund to pay your rent,” Courfeyrac countered, looking at Enjolras oddly.

Enjolras shifted slightly, which Cosette figured was due to his embarrassment. “That’s not really from my parents, though. That’s my money.”

“Yeah, your money,” Bahorel agreed. “From your parents.”

“Nevertheless,” Enjolras interjected. “I have some big plans for the future. This job is just a stepping stone towards my ultimate goal.”

Cosette nodded, trying to take in the introductions. “So Bahorel the bartender, Courfeyrac the whipping boy and Enjolras the intern, then?” She asked, wiping her nose absentmindedly with a tissue. At their reluctant nods, Cosette decided to press forward. “Now do I have the apartment? Because I really need to move today and I’d like to start crying to Rumours by Fleetwood Mac in my room as soon as possible.”

The three men glanced at each other. 

“Don’t you have any female friends you’d rather live with?” Courfeyrac asked gently.

Cosette sighed. “Well, I’d live with Eponine but she lives with her sister and a bunch of models and I just don’t think my self-esteem could take it right now.”

“Models?” Courfeyrac repeated, glancing at his other two friends. Bahorel and Courfeyrac suddenly looked far more interested in the conversation than they had been. 

Enjolras still looked bored out of his skull. 

“We need to have a head meeting,” Courfeyrac demanded, earning a groan from both of his friends.

“Come on, Courf, we’re almost thirty!” Enjolras complained before Courfeyrac’s arm wrapped around his shoulder to bring him and Bahorel closer to Courfeyrac, to the point where they were sharing breath. 

Cosette raised an eyebrow as heated whispers were exchanged. She fidgeted with the hem of her dress for a few minutes while they discussed her future. 

“We’ve decided that you can stay here,” Bahorel informed her, using a hand to push away from Courfeyrac and Enjolras. “But you have to try and cry less.”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac agreed, nodding sagely. “No one will ever fuck you again if you’re covered in snot and emotions make Enjolras uncomfortable.”

Enjolras stood up and brushed some invisible lint off his pants. “I am perfectly comfortable with the full range of human emotions. I just don’t see the point in crying over someone who has clearly wronged you and is thusly not good enough for you,” Enjolras commented, making the statement sound almost cold.

Cosette shot up and wrapped her arms around Enjolras waist, causing the man to freeze and the other two men to laugh at an almost hysterical volume.

“You have no idea how much I need to hear that,” Cosette sobbed, her voice muffled slightly by Enjolras’ t-shirt.

Enjolras shot a desperate look at his roommates, regret clear in his eyes. 

They could only respond with laughter.


End file.
